


The Prince and The Witch

by LittleTrashcan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, M/M, Witch Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTrashcan/pseuds/LittleTrashcan
Summary: As a symbol of peace, Lotor, self-proclaimed King of Daibazaal, presents Queen Allura and the Altean court with a gift: A witch, by the name of Keith. Unwilling to stir war between their courts, the Alteans accept, and Allura places the witch in the care of her younger brother, Prince Lance of Altea.The animosity between the two is obvious, but despite the Altean Prince's best efforts, the witch will not leave.Unbeknownst to Lance, Keith is drawn to the palace, and a mysterious entity seems intent on him staying...**DISCONTINUED**





	1. Chapter 1

Lance plucked idly at the guitar, pale, silver hair falling away from his forehead as he draped himself over the arm of the sofa. The sweet notes coming from the instrument hardly matched his mood—his glare across the room could have frozen anyone cold.

Fortunately, Pidge was immune. She continued mixing the colored liquids in front of her, totally ignoring the crown prince of Altea.

“If you’re not even going to be decent enough to talk to me, I’ll go find Hunk.” Lance struck a sour chord and swung his feet off the couch, sitting up.

“Cool.” The reply was entirely indifferent, sending irritated prickles up Lance’s spine.

He continued to watch as she carefully measured and weighed seemingly random ingredients. While Lance still needed lists and instructions written, Pidge had many alchemical recipes memorised. His bright blue eyes followed the young girl’s hands as she mixed a pale powder into a clear, ruby liquid.

He stood, guitar letting out a low hum as it bumped roughly against his leg. “I’ll come back in a bit, alright?”

Pidge hummed, hardly glancing up. She was lost in the work already, and Lance smiled at the familiar look on her face, making a mental note to bring her some food from Hunk. Although a brilliant alchemist, Pidge had a terrible habit of losing track of everything outside her current project. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to find that she’d stayed up for days at a time or forgotten to eat anything.

Sunlight filtered through the open windows of the hall, pale blue curtains blowing inward gently in the warm breeze. Lance stood at one, looking out over the palace grounds. The pale stone castle stretched upwards into the sky, all columns and towers and mosaics twisting artfully up the walls. Lance’s eyes shifted from the palace itself to the grounds, sweeping across the ponds and fountains to the maze and small forest, towards the open gates. There was a stream of people flowing in over the bridge, as there always was. It was peaceful and idyllic, and Lance loved it fiercely.

He left the guitar where it was, knowing it would be there later.

He hadn’t gotten five feet away when a voice cracked like a whip over his head.

_“Lance!”_ His elder sister, Allura, strode down the hallway, regal as ever in her flowing dress, loose hair cascading down her back and her piercing gaze locked onto him. “What have I told you about leaving your things everywhere?”

“I-”

“Funny hearing that coming from you, Allura.” Her easygoing bodyguard moved beside her, grinning widely. Reaching out with his metal arm, Shiro twitched the curtain nearest Lance’s guitar aside, revealing a stack of books. “Unless you’d like to inform me that these aren’t yours.”

Lance grinned as his sister blushed furiously. “You’re not supposed to take his side!”

“Who said I was taking sides? I simply like an even playing field. And Lance?”

“Yes?”

“You can wipe that smirk off your face,” Shiro said, stepping to the other side of the window and pulling back the other curtain to reveal a mess of books, papers, and instruments. “You’re both terrible at cleaning up after yourselves.”

Both siblings huffed in mock embarrassment as Shiro shook his head. They bantered on as the two picked up their belongings, both struggling to fit it all under their arms. Despite their pleas for his help, Shiro simply shook his head.

“You both got all that here, you can take it away.”

    As soon as he’d placed the pile of unfinished readings near his bed, he bolted from the room, making a beeline for the kitchens.

    “Slow down!” Shiro shouted as he passed by his sister and friend again.

    Lance ignored him, instead jumping on a smooth stone banister and riding it down towards the smell of spices and baking bread wafted up on warm air.

    “Hunk, buddy!” Lance hopped off the end of the banister skillfully, the trick almost nothing to him after having done it so often. “Hunk, it’s an emergency!”

    “My cookies are at a critical phase, Lance!” Hunk’s near endless patience seemed to only wear thin when Lance interrupted his cooking. “This had better be good!”

    “I need to feed Pidge,” Lance blurted, breathless after his run. “Do you have anything for me?”

    Hunk glanced up from the balls of dough and smiled at his dear friend. “You know where to look.”

    Lance grinned and went to the cupboard where Hunk kept ready-made snacks for the prince and Pidge. He held the paper wrapped packages carefully, knowing Hunk hated if the food got damaged. Grabbing an extra pomegranate, Lance turned and set everything on the table near Hunk.

Dipping a finger into the bowl before the chef, Lance stole a bite of cookie dough.

    “Hm,” he hummed, pretending to be skeptical, despite it melting deliciously over his tongue. “Needs cinnamon.

    “What _is_ it with you and cinnamon? You can’t put cinnamon in everything, Lance.”

    “But that’s the brilliance of it!” Lance flashed a devastatingly bright smile and swept light hair away from his eyes. “Cinnamon goes with everything.”

    Hunk smiled and shook his head. “I’ll make you cinnamon something in a bit and bring it up.”

    “You,” Lance sighed, “are the only one who knows how to treat me right.”

    Hunk rolled his eyes and pointed to the food on the table. “Grab a basket if you’re taking all that up.”

    Grinning, the prince grabbed one and neatly placed his cargo inside. “Thanks, Hunk! You’re the best!”

    Sprinting back up the stairs, Lance followed the twists and turns in the halls back to the young alchemist’s room in one of the palace’s several towers, making only one pitstop.

Opening the door carefully, Lance poked his head in to find her still engrossed in her work.

    “Pidge.” Lance frowned, receiving no reaction. “Pidge? _Katie.”_

At this, Pidge’s head shot up. While the majority of the palace called her by the fond nickname, any visiting scholars or dignitaries referred to her as ‘Katie’. The distinction having been made, she’d trained herself to respond almost instantly to her actual name.

    “Lance?” Her foggy eyes cleared, confusion replaced by irritation. “What?”

    “I have lunch.” Lance grinned and presented the basket of food. “And a gift for you, but only after lunch.”

    “Oh, _food.”_ Pidge grinned widely and reached for a sandwich. “What’s the gift?”

    Lance waved a roll of parchment in front of her. “New astronomy, but it can wait ‘til after we’re done eating.”

    Pidge’s eyes eagerly followed the paper as Lance lazily set it between them and unwrapped his own sandwich, taking a slow bite. “What’s the new astronomy?”

    He took his time answering, knowing that Pidge’s thirst for knowledge was nearly unquenchable, and that any new discoveries would send her over the moon. “Nothing much, just some new constellation or something. Maybe it was a planet? Dunno.”

    “A new _planet?”_ Pidge lunged forward and snatched the roll from his tan hands as he laughed. As she devoured the page, Pidge absently tore into the sandwich from Hunk. “A whole new planet...We can see it from the observation tower!”

    She looked up, eyes shining. “Lance, you _have_ to see it! Get Hunk off dinner duty, we all have to see it! There’s no telling when it’ll pass out of our vision!”

    “Alright, alright!” Lance grinned. “I’ll ask Hunk if he’d like to see it, but he may have to stay and help for dinner.”

    “Hunk is your personal chef, as ridiculously decreed by you. Why would he have to stay and help?”

    “From what I hear, there’s a bunch of diplomats coming to talk to Allura tonight.”

    “Allura and you,” Pidge corrected. “You’re the prince, you’ll have to hear what they have to say, too.”

    Lance just shrugged. “I won’t have to be there for the dinner. There’s always a dinner, but nobody says anything until the next day. There’s a whole formal thing for it.”

    “You probably should be.” Pidge crumpled the sandwich wrappings and placed them in the basket. “I mean, seeing a new planet all together would be cool, but you’re the prince, you should be there to greet diplomats.”

    He waved a hand. “If Allura asks, I’ll go. I’m not usually needed at these things, she doesn’t mind if I skip out on them.”

    “If you think it’s okay, then I’m not gonna complain.”

    Lance winked, throwing his own papers into the basket and standing. “I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be. Should I leave you to your alchemy, then?”

    Pidge shrugged. “I think I’ll take a nap and see where that gets me in the new experiment.”

    Lance grabbed the basket. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

    He headed down the hallway, casually unsure of where he was going, but knowing that the palace would lead him where he needed to go. When he was younger, Lance had thought that the palace was haunted; The soaring arches and echoing stone halls had always given off the feeling that there was another presence there, despite his parents’ reassurances that there were no ghosts haunting the sunny, warm verandas and halls.

    “Altea’s ghosts aren’t like those in the Krellian tales,” Alfor had hold his son once. “The Krellian ghosts are vicious beasts, Altean ghosts would never seek to harm. The spirits of our dead come only to fulfill last desires, to educate and help the living progress.”

Lance smiled fondly at the memory. He wasn’t certain that the sun-soaked palace wasn’t haunted, but his fear of the spirits diminished greatly when he’d heard that. He found himself turning down a familiar hallway, and smiled. Naturally, the memories of his father had led him here. He glanced behind him, ensuring that he wasn’t seen, and left the basket where it might be picked up. Continuing down the hall, Lance ran his hand along the beautifully mosaiced wall. It depicted twisting constellations, a glimmering sun and glowing moon. Along the ceiling were mounted figures of peacocks, tiles in the alcoves behind them arrayed like their many-eyed tails. It was one of the more extravagant hallways, more so when the light streamed through the open arches and winked off the multicolored wall.

Lance smiled as he stood in front of a flower, his mother’s favorite. He pressed the petals gently, smiling as the scent of the gardens behind him filled his lungs. He turned and headed for the stairs, knowing where he’d instinctively begun heading.

In the gardens, the air was heavier, more humid. Birds called out among the trees, and Lance caught flashes of bright plumage. Not all the birds were from Altea, some previous rulers had taken a liking to strange creatures they’d encountered. The gardens rustled with creatures from far and wide, but the young prince paid them no mind. He approached the maze, tightly woven branches and vines, all in bloom almost the whole year.. Allura and he had gotten lost once, and spent a balmy summer night among the vines. The next morning, Queen Melenor had found them both, asleep in the center of the flowered maze.

Now, Lance walked confidently among the blooms, their bright blossoms brushing delicately over tanned skin and silver hair. He took the turns easily, headed not for the center, but for a far corner he’d discovered only a year ago, almost immediately after the King and Queen’s passing.

He had gone into the maze to be away from all the people and their apologies, the condolences and faces and voices and pity. He hadn’t paid attention to where he went, but his feet had led him through the maze almost naturally, to the doors of the giant glass building he stood before, now.

Reaching forward, Lance laid his hand against the doors. They had always seemed locked, but opened easily for him. The dirty windows looked like they hadn’t been washed for years, and the hinges seemed rusted. The bright blue marks around his eyes heated pleasantly, and the doors opened inward. Whatever magic opened them, Lance knew it instinctively.

Inside, the sunlight streamed through the windows, lighting across the panels in colorful arrays of light. The inside of the greenhouse was drenched in light and color, and the faint sound of fountains. Lance sighed and closed the doors, walking along the lifted pathways above the pond housed in the giant glass dome. It was quiet, it was cool, and it was beautiful. The waterlilies floated gracefully across the top of the water, and bright green plants dipped fronds into the gentle waters. Lance sat on a low bridge, shuffled out of his shoes and dipped his feet into the water. As he lay back, he closed his eyes, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

 


	2. Chapter 2

    The chains around his ankles clanked and chafed uncomfortably as he shifted in the swaying witch hunter’s wagon. The Altean sun beat down heavily, the bars surrounding him doing nothing to shade him.

    “Get a shade on that,” a commanding voice cracked across the caravan. “The witch child must look presentable.”

    Keith grunted as the wagon was jostled to a halt. A thin cloth was pulled over the bars, dimming the sun. The iron in the bars hummed menacingly, and he narrowed his eyes as he shrunk away. The shackles had already created burns by the time the Galran caravan had wrapped his wrists and ankles in thin bandages. His actual health didn’t matter much to them, only his presence0, his appearance.

    The shade was lifted and the sunlight blinded him briefly, before he saw the face assessing him.

    Lotor’s pale gray eyes roved over Keith’s body, white hair braided back for the desert travel. Keith sat up, shifting to meet the cold eyes with an equally cold glare. The temperature inside the cage dropped, and something in Keith’s eyes burned with dark hatred.

    Lotor snapped his fingers, and runed lit up the inside of the cage, a harsh yellow flash that nearly blinded the boy inside. Immediately Keith cried out,  feeling any powers leave him as a pain blossomed in his gut like he’d been punched.

    Lotor turned without a word, mounting his horse and urging it forward. Keith lay in the wagon as it jerked forward, gasping for air as the clenching pain in his stomach faded with the runes’ malicious glow.

    He hated Lotor, hated the assortment of diplomats and soldiers and servants surrounding him, hated the hot desert they were traveling through. He hated all of it. Curling into a well-worn dent in the dirty hay, Keith watched the thin fabric sway around him, revealing glimpses of the slowly changing landscape.

    All of it was unfamiliar. He closed his eyes, longing for the familiar mountains and valleys of Daibazaal, of home. The small cabin where he had stayed with his father, surrounded by greenery and lush gardens of herbs and flowers. Keith had loved it with all his heart.

    He opened his eyes slowly, sighing at the cheery sapphire sky glowing just past the cloth. He looked at the bars surrounding him, the iron cage that shimmered with hatred. Keith rolled over. It wasn’t something he’d like to think about. CLosing his eyes once more, Keith fell into a restless sleep.

    “Get up, boy!” The bars around him were slammed, their angry energy humming all the louder. Curled in the center, as far away from the bars as he could get, Keith started awake. It was night, the caravan had stopped before huge gates. One of Lotor’s assembly stood before the bars, leering at him. “You’re about to enter the Altean palace.”

    Keith said nothing, but his scowl deepened. His fate wasn’t exactly a secret to him— he was to be given away, as if he were some trinket to be bartered and sold for an alliance between kingdoms.

 _Not that Daibazall is any form of kingdom,_ Keith frowned. His eyes widened, though, as the man unlocked the door and swung it open.

    “Get up. We’re going.”

    Keith stood, trying not to brush the bars as he shuffled out. He looked up, and found Lotor observing him, cold and calculating, before he turned away from the ragged boy. As he straightened, Keith’s chains were gripped by two imposing soldiers.

    “Don’t try any of that funny business, witch,” the larger one snarled.

    Keith blinked slowly, but said nothing. There wasn’t much magic he could do, anyway. The iron prevented much of it, and while he could still slip small tricks out, he was far too weak to produce anything that would allow him to escape.

    The party made its way across the bridge, the water below churning briefly with some creature’s movement. As they approached the gates, the soldiers shuffled with the shackles, hiding them from the guards nodding them through the gate. They strode by, any noises Keith’s chains made hidden by the clanking of armor.

    Keith felt a shiver run up his spine as they passed through the intricately tiled walls, and then he was jostled roughly to the side as the group made their way to some discreet stairs, headed towards theri chambers. As Keith struggled up the steps, Lotor spoke, addressing him directly for the first time.

    “You will be staying in a room directly adjacent to mine for the time being. There will be a guard with you at all times, and to further deter you from making foolish decisions, the iron shackles will remain on your hands until absolutely necessary to remove them. You will be presented to the Altean court in three days, when we are to have our formal meeting with the Queen and Prince.”

    Keith’s breath hitched. Three days. Only three days to figure out how he would escape.

    Lotor stopped suddenly, the assembly barely stopping in time to avoid running into him. Again, he spoke without turning.

    “If you make any attempts to escape, you will be killed slowly and brutally.”  His voice was emotionless, the words blunt and quiet. “Do I make myself clear?”

    “Perfectly,” Keith whispered, voice rasping and rusted from disuse.

    Three days was all he had. Three days to make a perfect escape, or he died.

 


	3. Chapter 3

    Lance lazily watched the incoming party of strangers from the observatory’s window before turning away. Pidge was grinning ear to ear, excitedly peeking through the telescope every few minutes. Hunk had yet to arrive, but promised that he’d be up to see the planet with them.

    “When do you think Hunk will get here?” Pidge asked, halting her light speed talk about space for the time being. “It’d better be soon, he’s gonna miss it. The paper said it’s only visible for a little while.”

    “He’ll be here soon,” Lance promised, glancing at the stairwell. “He probably just got held up a bit in the kitchens.”

    “What held me up,” panted a familiar voice, “was these obnoxious stairs. Why are there so many?”   

    “The observatory had to be in the tallest tower.” Pidge glanced from the telescope to their friend with a smile. “Otherwise everything would be obscured by the other towers.”

    “Isn’t there another way to get up here, though? Something easier?” Hunk sighed, and Pidge’s eyes lit up. Before she could say anything, a servant dashed up the stairs.

    “Your Highness!” He skidded to a halt, breathless. “You-Your High… Highness…”

    Lance was in front of him in an instant, hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, take your time, catch your breath, my friend.”

    “Thank you…” The man took a minute and then straightened up. “Your presence is requested in the Queen’s chambers, immediately.”

    Concern colored the prince’s features, immediately followed by guilt. He turned to Hunk and Pidge, ready to apologise, but they waved him off.

    “Go,” Hunk smiled. “It’s okay. You’re needed.”

    Pidge waved, smile on her face doing nothing to hide the gloom in her eyes. “We can catch it on another night.”

    “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll make this up as soon as possible!” Lance started down the steps, following the servant down from the tall tower. “What’s going on? Is my sister okay?”

    “The queen is perfectly safe,” he puffed in response. “There is urgent news from the royal advisor.”

    “Coran? Did he say what it was?” Lance focused as much attention as he could on the steps, desperately trying to avoid tripping and falling the rest of the way down. _Hunk is right, we could use another way up and down from here._

    “I’m afraid not, highness.”

    Lance said nothing, saving the rest of his breath for the stairs and jog across the palace. The twists and turns were easy enough to navigate, and they were before the round doors in a moment. The servant knocked, pausing only a moment before pushing it open.

    “Prince Lance, as asked, Your Majesty!”

    Lance strode in, worry painted clearly on his face. “Is everything alright?”

    Coran and Allura looked up from their seats on Allura’s cushioned furniture..

    “Lance,” Allura smiled. “I’m so sorry to pull you from your plans, but Coran wanted to inform us both.”

    The man nodded, his face entirely serious for once.

    “Thank you, Xi.” As soon as he left, Coran turned to the royal siblings. “There is a party of diplomats being housed in the palace. They’ve yet to announce their intentions, but have requested an audience with the both of you.”

    “Yes,” Allura said. “I’m well aware.”

    Lance glanced from his sister to the advisor. “I saw them come in, from the astronomy tower. They didn’t seem to be from any kingdom I know.”

    “They’re not.” Coran closed his eyes briefly. “In the war between Altea and the Galra, Zarkon had united many of the Galran clans under his reign, banding them together in hopes of winning an empire. As you know, your father defeated Zarkon and the Galran Empire, and the clans dispersed throughout Daibazaal.”

    “What does this have to do with the diplomats?” Lance ignored Allura’s glance. He was interrupting rudely, but the suspicion in the back of his mind drove him onward.

    “The clans have been separated and peaceful for years,” Allura added.

    “And they continue to be. However, it has recently come to light that Zarkon had a single son. This is why those diplomats concern me.” Coran stood and folded his arms. “They’ve made no announcement, no declaration of where they’re from, but if my suspicions are correct, this envoy is a group of Galra from Daibazaal.”

   “This could be nothing,” Allura murmured, but her eyes were lost in thought. “Even if they’re from Daibazaal, even _if_ it’s the son of Zarkon, there’s no indication that they intend to start another war. We’ll keep our guard up, and we’ll hear them out.”

   Coran nodded, eyes shining at the new Queen’s decision. “A wise choice. I believe that, in light of this new information, we should also keep a closer watch on the two of you. I’ve already alerted Shiro, he’s assigned a guard for Lance, and will continue watching over you, Allura.”

    “A guard?” Lance sat up. “I don’t think—”

    “It’s the safest route, Lance.” Allura turned to her younger brother. “I know it isn’t the most... _savory_ of choices, but it’s a necessary caution.”

    He wasn’t happy with the choice. More than anything, he valued the allowances his sister had given him, the freedom to wander the palace as much as he wanted. The last thing he wanted was someone tailing him about the palace, following and babysitting him.

    He wasn’t happy, but he understood. Nodding, he rose and bid the two goodnight. It was clear Allura wanted to talk more about the mysterious diplomats, and while Lance would be free to join the conversation, he knew he wouldn’t be much help.

    As he exited, he bumped face first into Shiro. “Lance! Are you alright?”

    “Yeah, sorry, Shiro. Just a bit on my mind after Coran’s news.”

    The older man nodded. “Understandable. Coran told me earlier today, so that I could arrange a personal guard for you.”

    Lance’s face darkened at the reminder. “I don’t need—”

    “A babysitter?” Shiro grinned. “I’m well aware of your combat capabilities, Lance. You always exceeded my expectations in training. But that’s not why you’re being given a guard. You’re capable of handling yourself, but you and Allura need someone to have your back, just in case you need it.”

    “I know,” Lance sighed. “I know, I’m just…not happy with it.”

    “I’m sorry.” Shiro dropped a hand onto Lance’s shoulder. “I can understand, but I still have to do my job. I had him wait at your rooms for you.”

    Nodding, Lance thanked the captain of the guard and walked to his rooms, deep in thought. If Zarkon had a son who wanted to unite the Galran clans again, would it be so bad? If all the Galra wanted was to form a peaceful kingdom under Zarkon’s mysterious heir, perhaps there would be nothing to worry about. A kingdom would likely be much stronger and prosperous than the clans as they were.

    Lance was young when the war had raged, but he still remembered. It had been harrowing, and the palace was constantly on edge. Even as a child, Lance knew that outside the gates, the world was in chaos. The Galra had a reputation for strength and brutality for a reason, and Lance knew that whatever impressions he’d gotten as a child, the realities were much worse.

 _If the Galra unite as a kingdom, then it’s a much stronger threat with than the clans dotting Daibazaal._ Eyes glued to the ground as he thought, Lance walked quickly to his room, eager to sit and ponder the situation in private.

    He only looked up when he heard shuffling steps ahead of him. Expecting his guard, Lance was shocked to see a total stranger. The late King Alfor had a standard that every ruler, no matter how great, should know each of his subjects. As a result, there were few people in the palace and throughout the immediate city of Altea that Lance didn’t know.

    “I just need to get back to the guest chambers!” The stranger appeared to be arguing with the guard outside Lance’s door. “If you could simply show me, or find someone else to show me, or even _tell_ me—”

    “I’m sorry, sir,” the guard responded, and Lance recognised his voice with some irritation. Shiro had assigned him _James Griffin,_ one of the more irritating guards. “I am ordered to remain at my post until the Prince—”

    “I’m here,” Lance announced, striding up to the conversation. “I apologize if you were being treated poorly, sir.”

    “No, no, Your Highness!” The stranger looked embarrassed, and Lance caught sight of his travelling clothing. _One of the diplomats._ “I appreciate the resolve of your guard. I must apologize for finding myself so lost.”

   “The palace can be a confusing place,” Lance smiled, making a decision. “I will personally show you to the guest chambers.”

    “Sir-!” James stepped forward, brow furrowing. “That’s—”

    “Perfectly acceptable for a ruler to show their esteemed guests where to stay,” Lance shrugged. “We’ll all go.”

    Turning, Lance gestured down the hallway. “This way, sir…?”

    “Lotor,” the stranger introduced himself with a bow. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

    Lance smiled, accepting the thanks and leading the way to the guest chambers. All the way, he kept up a lighthearted conversation all the way. He looked at Lotor, wondering if he could find any of the information that Allura and Coran were lacking.

    “Where did you say you were from?” Lance led the way through a hall, one side opened to the garden, where the full moon poured over the flowers and warm night breezed coaxed the heavy scents of flowers towards them.

    “I’m afraid I didn't,” Lotor responded, smiling slightly. “My group is from the Galra clans of Daibazaal.”

    “Oh?” Lance looked at him curiously.

    “I’m aware of what a shock it must be, but I assure you, we mean no harm.” The two continued on towards the guest chambers, the conversation falling silent briefly.

    “Lotor.” Lance stopped before the rounded archway of the palace guest rooms. “The war between Altea and the Galra is over, correct?”

    “Yes, Your Highness.” The silver haired man looked curiously at Lance.

    “I hope it stays that way.” Lance sighed. “I don’t mean to accuse your envoy of anything in the slightest, but I want you to understand: I don’t want a war between Alteans and the Galra.”

    “I understand, Your Highness. I wish the same.” The two surveyed each other for a time before Lotor bowed. “Thank you for your assistance.”

    Lance dipped briefly in a light bow, and turned to walk back towards his own room, digesting the information.

 


	4. Chapter 4

    Keith gave the new shackles an experimental tug. They didn’t seem to have much, if any, iron in them, but he didn’t entirely trust them. Every movement made sickly yellow sigils flare with light, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what magic would make them do.

    He studied the chain, twisted around a decorative wrought iron design embedded in the wall. Keith doubted that he could rip the iron from the wall, and doubted he could make it very far dragging the framework. The chain wound through the many loops and whorls of the iron— Without carrying it, the work would surely get caught and slow him down.

    He sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the bed frame. At least he’d been given a bed, a vast improvement in comparison with the bottom of the witch hunter’s cage. Keith pulled against the chains, again and again, the clinking metal and jangling clash with the wrought iron began to fall into a rhythm, and Keith felt his eyes drift shut.

    He woke up under the swaying branches of a willow, warm breeze caressing his cheeks. Nearby, frogs chirped in a nighttime song. His fingers dug into rich soil, the earth pressing against his palms felt raw and powerful, filled with magic. His wrists were free of chains, for the first time in weeks. Grinning, Keith looked past the willow’s curtain, catching glimpses of the surrounding area— fireflies dancing above a pond, cattails dipping fronds into dark water.

    Rising, Keith stepped beyond the shifting green and gasped, finding himself looking at the inside of a massive structure, all glass and water and greenery. At his feet, colorful fish slid through the waters, ignoring his presence completely. He stepped forward, bare toes meeting the water’s edge, and felt nothing. One more step, and then another, and another and he was walking across the surface, the gentle ripples totally undisturbed by him.

    “This is a dream.”

    As soon as the words left his lips, it came crashing down. The scene melted, colors bleeding into each other and distorting. The water at his feet gave way, and he fell, plunging into freezing water.

    It wasn’t the peaceful waters he’d seen before. This was a raging sea, dragging him back and forth, tearing at his dark hair and throwing him into violent waves. Keith opened his mouth, but tasted only the salt water. It filled his lungs, burning his throat.

    _It has to be you._ A commanding voice cracked over the violent sea, and blue eyes blinked into existence. Tanned hands wrapped around his own, and Keith gripped them tightly. **_It must be you._**

He bolted upright, wincing as the twisted marks on the chains flared almost blindingly in the half-light. The chain snapped against the decorative panel, and the dull ring of metal hummed through the twilight air.

    The room hissed with energy, and Keith could feel magic singing through his veins. Breaths slowed, and he felt the electric tingling die down some. He studied his hands, seeing only the strong ones that he’d gripped so tightly in his dream. Keith squeezed his eyes shut as the finer details slid away, willing himself to try and commit as much as he could to memory.

    When he opened his eyes, though, only the base details remained: Glass house, sea, voice.

    Shaking his head, he leaned back against the wall. It was something that could be dealt with after he escaped.

    _If_ he escaped.


	5. Chapter 5

    “Lance.” Allura leaned forward, brows pulling together. “You met one of the diplomats last night?”

    “I did,” he replied. “His name was Lotor, he said he was lost and looking for the guest chambers.”

    “It’s true.” Lance’s bodyguard blushed as all the eyes of the room landed on him. “He wanted me to guide him back, but I said I couldn’t leave my post.”

    “Thank you, Griffin.” Lance smiled at his bodyguard before turning back to his breakfast companions. “Lotor confirmed that they’re Galra from Daibazaal, but didn’t say why they’re here.”

    Coran pressed his lips together as Allura sipped a fragrant tea, both sinking deep into thought.

    “By now, there’s no doubt that he knows you’ve told us.” Shiro spoke up, dark brows drawn together and eyes focused on the table in front of him. “The odds of someone from the Galra clans being a flimsy, bowing courtier is unlikely. Lotor didn’t tell you that just to settle curiosity, he told you so that we’d know.”

    “Do you think Zarkon’s son is among them?”

    The rest of the table looked at Lance, his own unease reflected on their faces.

    “It’s a possibility.” Allura spoke up. “If they do, they’re likely here to declare themselves a kingdom, ask for Altea’s alliance. Or… they’re here to declare war.”

    “We’re still uncertain as to whether or not Zarkon’s child actually exists, or even how old he is.” Coran shook his head. “We could be jumping to conclusions, assuming that he’s among them.”

    “Do you think they’d do either without the son?” Lance toyed with his cup, watching the half cold tea slosh around in the cup.

    “I’m not sure. The only time the Galra clans have gathered to form a kingdom or go to war was under Zarkon. Without that leadership, I don’t think they’d make a move.” Coran sat back, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand.

    The room fell silent as they each contemplated the situation.

    “Should we be concerned about them?” James spoke again, looking to Shiro.

    The older man frowned slightly, the scar slashed across his nose and cheeks tugging down slightly. “We should be on alert, but I don’t think there’s any reason to do anything drastic. They’ve done nothing but confirm that they’re from Daibazaal.”

    “Shiro is right,” Allura said. “So far, we have no reason to be alarmed. They’re an envoy of diplomats from Daibazaal, they could be here for anything, and we’re not even sure if Zarkon’s son exists, much less if he’s here with them. There’s a formal dinner tonight, and then tomorrow we'll hear what they have to say.”

    Lance nodded and sipped at the sweet, fruity tea in his cup. Allura was adept at handling such situations, and with the help of Coran and Shiro’s practical input, she wasn’t just a good queen—she was a great one.

    There was nothing more that he could do, now. He felt a bit of guilt for the horridly formal warning he’d given the man last night—it was reckless, and if it were taken wrong, it could be disastrous.

    The breakfast was simple, after that, filled with easy conversation and comedy from Coran. Halfway through, Bii Boh Bi—Coran’s right hand man—rushed in, and whispered into the Royal Advisor’s ear in the mysterious language no one quite knew, save for Coran. Sometimes, Lance thought he could piece bits together, but most days he was lost in what the thin man was saying.

    “I’m afraid I have to leave you.” Coran stood and bowed, smiling as he stood. “There is a stack of letters on my desk that must be addressed and sorted out. I’ll see you all at dinner tonight.”

    “Thank you, Coran.” Allura sipped at the dark tea in her mug, and watched as the advisor trotted out of the room, bouncy gait making him look only somewhat ridiculous.

    “I’ll get going, too.” Lance stood, taking his tea with him. “I have a planet viewing to make up.”

    Allura simply smiled and waved as her younger brother strode from the room, graceful as a cat. Lance’s bodyguard bowed quickly to the queen, then turned and jogged to catch up.

    “Your Highness!” James’ voice echoed off of mosaiced walls and pale stone floors. “Your—”

    Lance sighed and slowed his pace, allowing the guard to catch up to him. At some point, he’d need to find a way to leave James Griffin behind, so he could have some peace, so he could visit the greenhouse.

    Briefly, he wondered if it even really _was_ a greenhouse. _Do greenhouses typically have water in them?_    

    He shook his head, heading for the kitchens instead. As he descended the stairs, he sighed, hoping that Pidge and Hunk had at least gotten to see the new planet they were hoping to. If they hadn’t, it would’ve been a night of disappointment. He poked his head into the kitchens, which were surprisingly quiet. The scent of bread still floated around, leftover from the morning’s baking. The ovens were still hot, though, and the added warmth was nearly stifling.

    As he glanced around, he noticed most of the cooks were gathered around one of the farther wooden tables, all hunched over something Lance couldn’t see. He walked over, trying to hear what they were talking about.

    “Are you kidding me? We can’t serve _that_ as the appetizer!”

    “It could be a fine appetizer!”

    “It is not!” Hunk reigned supreme over the table as the chefs discussed the upcoming dinner. “Bite size fruit pies are, at the very least, a _dessert._ We serve _royalty_ , and this is a _formal dinner_ for _diplomats._ We are not going to serve dessert as  the appetizer.”

    “Bite size pies sound great,” Lance interrupted, startling about every chef except Hunk, who looked at him fiercely. “But Hunk is right, they seem more like a small dessert. What are the other options?”

    The chefs shuffled their feet awkwardly, unsure of how to answer the prince.

    “We have canapés, a selection of cold cuts and olives, wraps with goat cheese spread, tomatoes, and cucumber, stuffed grape leaves, or chips with spicy hummus on the table.”

    Lance closed his eyes, thinking about each of the appetizers. “How much of a variety in appetizer should there be?”

    “Probably at least two.” Hunk replied tersely. He’d always taken cooking seriously.

    “Then I think the cold cuts for a little variety, and the wraps for something a little more regular. Does that work?” Lance looked around at the chefs, then to Hunk. Despite being one of the younger chefs, Hunk had quickly established himself in the kitchens. Even the oldest, grumpiest chef respected his opinion; Lance had requested that Hunk cook the majority, if not all, of his meals early on, and quickly after the two had become fast friends.

    Now, Hunk’s face was clouded over with thought, plotting the rest of the menu and fitting in the flavors of the two appetizers. “This could work. All in favor?”

    The kitchen echoed with the banging of fists on wood, the kitchen staff’s signature confirmation. Lance smiled at the sound, and Hunk returned the beaming grin. “I’ll leave you to it.”

    As he left the kitchen, Lance sighed wistfully. He should’ve known Hunk would be busy with preparations for the incredibly formal dinner later tonight—When it came to food, Lance’s dearest friend held nothing back. The meal was likely to be seven courses or more, and Hunk would likely take few breaks between planning, prep, and cooking.

    Beside him, James coughed hesitantly. Upon Lance’s questioning look, he spoke. “You handled that well.”

    “It was just suggesting appetizers, Griffin.”

    “It was diffusing an argument and providing an answer. It may have been a small issue, but you handled it with grace.”

    “I really don’t think arguments about appetizers need to be handled with grace.”

    “I… I guess so.”

    “Is there something else you mean?”

    His guard was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I was wondering… why you don’t speak up more when your sister has decisions to make. You obviously have insight and opinions, but you never voice anything beyond the facts of a situation.”

    “Griffin, you’ve seen us meet once.”

    “It wasn’t the only time Allura has made a decision, I assumed you’d been there for many.”

    Lance’s demeanor turned stony, making the face he reserved for dinners and meetings with particularly irritating or dangerous dignitaries. They walked along in silence, Lance’s stride lengthening and his lips pressed in a thin line. “I feel no need to discuss this with you, Griffin. It is none of your business.”

    If James felt slighted, he didn't show it. Instead he simply nodded, falling a step behind his charge. “Apologies, sir. I overstepped my bounds.”

    Lance continued towards the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to get to Pidge’s massive alchemy lab. Even if she was busy, he’d prefer her company over his current situation. Opening the door carefully, he found his friend lounging across a chair stretched sideways—nearly upside down—legs flung over the arm and back, reading some long scroll covered in cramped black ink.

    “I’d prefer it if you stood guard outside. Nothing will happen to me in the lab.” Lance didn’t mean to be so cold, but at the moment he’d rather not have to feel the young guard watching over his shoulder at every turn.

    James Griffin simply bowed, then turned as the door shut. Lance breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to see Pidge grinning crookedly at him. “Is it driving you insane?”

    “Yes,” Lance groaned as he flung himself across the young scholar’s couch. “Talk to me about anything else. What are you reading?”

    “Letter from my brother.” Pidge grinned and turned back to it, eyes scanning it over. “He says he might be back soon, but it’s hard to tell.”

    “Is Matt still looking for new species?”

    “Oh yeah. He says he found these cute little fluffy things recently, sent a sketch with the letter.” She turned the expertly drawn image to Lance, and he had to agree: The fuzzy creature seemed incredibly cute.

    Lance smiled gently and sank further back into the pillows. With Pidge, talking didn’t matter too much. It was always good conversation, but Pidge’s presence was as comforting as Hunk’s food. He didn’t have to think about Griffin’s questions, or his role in the palace.

    With a happy sigh, he closed his eyes and slipped into a comforting slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm loving how much y'all are enjoying this so far, it's an absolute blast to write! If I don't update regularly over the next two weeks, it's because it's finals week(s). I'm super sorry if I leave you on cliffhangers or anything and can't update, but after the next two weeks college is out and I'm free to write a lot more! (Free, free as a bird... A bird with a keyboard)  
> Wish me luck, lol. And thank you all for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

    Keith had spent his entire first day at the Altean palace sleeping. He’d woken up twice from strange dreams, but found himself falling asleep immediately after. The third time he’d woken up he ate what was brought to him, and quickly curled back up.

    It was the chains. The sigils on them weren’t entirely indecipherable, and in the moments he’d been awake, a careful look at them had revealed a sleeping spell engraved in them.

    Now, as he fought the cloudy sleep thrust upon him, he studied them further. Sleep was the strongest spell upon them, as well as a durability charm. There seemed to be one more, but he slipped into unconsciousness before deciphering it.

    He was back in the water garden, everything was warm and slow and relaxed. Even the fireflies that bumped into each other over the cool water were lazy and sluggish. He made to step out from the willow curtain, as he’d tried to do so many times before.

    “Wait,” the command wasn’t particularly loud, nor was it particularly forceful. But Keith stopped all the same, and turned to see something new.

    A white fox stood before him, resplendent and graceful. They studied each other, a moment of silence as they took each other in.

    “What do you want?” He narrowed his eyes. If she was what was calling him back to this place, back to this dream, over and over, this was the only answer he wanted, regardless of if it was rude.

_If you have visitations, Keith, be polite. You never know what power they have._

    His father’s words echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but he didn’t care. He wanted an answer.

    The fox blinked her liquid blue eyes and cocked her head, then turned and vanished beyond the curtain of whip-thin willow branches. Keith stood for a second, pondering, before following her. Beyond the willow, the world was quiet and still. This time, rather than facing a raging sea, he found himself facing the entrance to a lush hedge maze. Turning, his eyes swept across what had replaced the peaceful water garden: The palace.

    “Stay.” The fox sat in the entrance to the hedge maze, watching him with fathomless eyes.

    “Why should I?” Keith challenged.

    The fox had no reply, simply disappearing in the maze. Keith darted after it, and found himself start awake as soon as he passed through the flowered bushes.

    He sat up, unsure of why he’d woken up, fragments of the dream still floating around his head. A fox, the palace.

_Stay._

    He shook his head, trying to pull his thoughts together, away from the strangeness of it all. Sitting still, he waited for the inevitability of sleep to drag him back into another odd dream, but it didn’t come. No fog settled over him, no creeping darkness stole his consciousness.

    Frowning, he pulled the chains to him, expecting the movement making the symbols etched into the cuffs glow.

    The metal remained dark. He held the shackles up, examining them with a close eye. Every single sigil had been marred in some way, scratched through or altered to make them useless. What remained around Keith’s wrists were perfectly ordinary shackles—ones he was perfectly capable of removing.

    He studied the chain, eyes roving over the surface, wondering if this was a trap. If he used magic, would the chains burn him? Was it an illusion? He pressed his lips together. There was only one way to find out.

    Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of the manacles, their weight and shape. His magic bubbled to the surface, humming over his skin and hissing quietly in his ears. He directed it with a single thought and intention: Unlock the chains.

    A soft click broke through the silence in the room, and Keith’s eyes snapped open. The manacles hung from his wrists, open, no retaliation.

    He gaped. _Is this possible? I’m_ free.

    He pulled his wrists from the loose cuffs and glanced toward the door. He reached out with his magic, feeling for a presence in the setting sun. There was a formal dinner tonight for the Daibazaal party, Lotor would have taken most of the ensemble with him to make a big impression.

    He shut his eyes and let his magic drift from the room, seeing one guard on the balcony, smoking. One. He smiled—one guard was nothing.

    Keith flexed his fingers and rolled his wrists, then pressed his palms together, concentrating. When he pulled them apart, a grey vapor stretched between them. He sent it out of the room and silently padded barefoot after it, watching it wreath around the guard’s head before getting sucked into his lungs.

 _One, two, three…_ The guard slumped and Keith moved forward to catch him, grunting under the weight of the sleeping man. Arranging him on a chair, Keith silently moved back into the room.

    He had no clue where to go. The balcony was too high to jump from, and he wasn’t keen on climbing it—it was too noticeable. He looked around the room before his attention was drawn to the corner, where a hazy ghost of a fox sat, watching him. It turned and disappeared back into the room he’d been locked in with a swish of its tail. With only a moment’s hesitation, Keith stepped after it, praying he wouldn’t wake up this time.

    He found himself trailing the fox around another corner, to a door that led to Lotor’s rooms. He hesitated, and looked at the fox, but it simply walked to the door and vanished. Sighing, Keith used his magic to unlock the door, then searched for another presence. Finding none, he cracked the door open and found the fox in the middle of the room, already heading towards another door. Keith followed.

    He followed her through empty corridors and unoccupied staircases, unsure of where she was leading, but hoping it would be to an exit. He followed her down a beautifully mosaiced hall, gazing at the tiles as they changed from night to day to ocean to land. The vixen stopped before a knot of flowers, staring at it unerringly.

    Keith glanced up and down the corridor, confused. The hazy ghost wouldn’t move, and Keith narrowed his eyes. He studied the twisted, mosaic of blooms, then reached forward and gently pressed his hand to them. The wall slid back and sideways, revealing an abandoned hall. The fox bounded forward, moving faster than before.

    Keith rushed after her glowing trail, glancing back briefly when the door shut of its own accord.

 


	7. Chapter 7

    Lance folded his arms and glared across the room, where Shiro was standing, neatly folded formalwear in his hands. “Don’t you have to guard Allura?”

    “Lance, it’s non-negotiable.” Shiro sighed for the tenth time. “You’re going to attend the formal dinner.”

    “I don’t see why,” Lance snapped, still squarely planted in front of the window. He hadn’t moved for fifteen minutes, dragging this argument out, trying desperately to escape the strangling formality of the looming dinner. “I haven’t had to attend any of the other dinners.”

    “You haven’t, but this one is different.”

    “How so? It’s an ensemble of diplomats here to talk to Allura, I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

    “Lance—” Shiro sighed, metal arm reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Despite having near endless patience, the man was tiring of the circular argument. “These diplomats are from Daibazaal. They may not have anything sinister planned, but having both you and your sister is a show of unity. You’ve already met one of them, if you don’t show up they’ll wonder why you aren’t there. It also makes watching over the two of you easier, I don’t have to split my men up as much. Please, Lance, for practicality’s sake-”

    “I—” Lance started, but frowned deeper than before. He couldn’t exactly argue with Shiro on that, him and his sister in the same room was the most practical solution to both problems. “I’ll stay two hours.”

    “You’ll stay for the whole thing.” Despite the stern words, Shiro perked up. The lengthy argument had drained both of them, and they were eager to come to an end, even if it meant negotiating a compromise.

    “I’ll stay through the second course then come back for coffee and the sweet cakes.”

    “Fourth course, come back for coffee.”

    “Fourth and coffee in my room.”

    “Fifth, half of the sixth, and then coffee in your room?”

    “Fourth course, dire emergency calls me away and that’s the final offer.” Lance grinned, sunlight making his silver hair glow almost golden. “Take it or leave it, Shirogane.”

    “Fine, fine.” Shiro handed him the formal robes. “Fourth course, with an attempt to come back for coffee?”

    “No promises.” Lance held up the clothing Allura had suggested, groaning internally at the layers. “Why does she always pick the most complicated outfits?”

    “It looks nice,” Shiro replied, turning towards the door. “James will get you at 6 o’clock, be ready.”

    “If I’m not, does that mean I’ll get to skip it?” Lance grinned mischievously.

    “If you’re not, that means I’m gonna come drag you out of your rooms and force you to sit through the whole dinner.”

    Shuddering at the thought of staying through all seven courses of eating, talking, and performances, Lance hurriedly agreed before turning back to the monstrosity of clothing before him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

    Keith wasn’t sure where the tunnel was heading, only that it hadn’t been used in a long, long time. The glowing trail of the ghostly white fox faded in and out, and he followed unquestioningly. Here and there beneath the cobwebs and dust, carvings and mosaics peeked out at him, catching the light of the small fire in his palm. He could hardly stop to examine them, though, as the ghost trotted ever onwards.

As he walked, he caught snippets of conversation, bits and pieces of the lives being lived around him. He listened, vaguely, to half-heard fragments of conversation around the palace.

“...Daibazaal isn’t a threat, not yet…”

“...Dire emergency calls me away, and that’s the final offer…”

“...We can serve pie bites after salad…”

He shook his head. Flippant, meaningless words from people he didn’t care about. Turning the corner after the hint of a swishing tail, Keith came face to face with the translucent vixen and a door. It was warm to the touch, the bottom glowing with light.

_ An exit. _

    Keith grinned at the fox, and pushed open the door, hearing vines snapping and found —

    The water garden from his dreams. He stood at a doorway hidden in draping vines and sweeping willows branches. The ponds before him glowed in the setting sun, lazy koi drifting through the cattails dipping their fronds into the water.  Overhead, the panes of glass winked with multicolored light, throwing rainbows across Keith’s skin in fractal patterns.

It was breathtaking.

It was not an exit.

Before Keith could turn and head back in the door, before he could try and find the fox and beg —or demand—an exit, a voice floated through the peaceful silence of the garden. There was a melodic quality to it, honey-sweet and light as it wound through notes of a song in a language Keith couldn’t recognize.

_ I should leave, I should go before they catch me,  _ Keith’s thoughts jumbled around his head, flying in circles even as his feet led him forward, silently, closer to the sound.

Peering through the curtain of the weeping willow, he gazed across the largest pond and saw him: A boy, silver hair falling across his forehead as he sang to the fish under the quiet waters. He sat on the bridge, totally at ease, without a care in the world, golden anklets jingling with his gentle movements. Hung over the railing was a luxurious robe, nearly forgotten as the young Altean dipped his bare toes in the warm pool. 

Keith was mesmerized, watching him. It was rare to see an individual so at peace with the world, especially in his home in Daibazaal. There were few times he and his father had been able to totally relax, fewer still where they could let their guard down as much as this Altean. 

In his fascination, Keith leaned forward, hand resting on the weeping willow’s low, twisting bough as he peered through it’s trailing vines. A step forward, and another, and he was nose to vine with the curtain separating him from the rest of the garden. Another step forward, and his hand slipped, catching one of the smaller, sturdier sprigs, snapping it off with a crack.

He froze, praying he wouldn’t be noticed, as the Altean whirled to his feet, song instantly cut off. 

It was then that Keith saw it, sunlight glinting off the thin golden circlet he wore. This wasn’t any Altean. This was Lance Di Leonis, Crown Prince of Altea. 

One of Keith’s future keepers.

He didn’t think, just whirled and ran back to the door, thanking whatever gods were listening that it was open before slipping through and back down the dark tunnel, ignoring the soft  _ click  _ of the door shutting behind him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Lance stood on the bridge, staring in the direction the cracking had come from. Despite the vast size of the water garden, it was almost always near silent. No one else knew about it, at least to his knowledge. 

Whatever had happened, he was on edge, now. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that a pair of eyes had been locked on him only moments ago. He gave the willow and surrounding foliage a last glance before gathering up his sandals and robe and exiting the warm glass dome. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts to the back of his head. There was something more important he needed to do right now. 

Slipping his arms through the gauzy sleeves and trying the sash around his waist, Lance made his way back towards where he’d left James guarding a small gazebo in the maze. It was no small feat to convince the guard that there was only one entrance and no possible way that he could be attacked, but he’d managed to finagle an hour or two away from prying eyes.

It wasn’t that the watery greenhouse was any form of dark secret. It was just a comfortable place to get away from the world, and there were few places in the palace that seemed untouched or unknown to others. 

He pulled the sandals on, grimacing at the feeling of shoes on his feet and the cheery tinkle of the anklets. Still, he headed towards the exit James guarded, a wave of mischief coming over him as he crouched, silencing his footsteps and slinking towards the unsuspecting guard.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk when he got behind his bodyguard, and he slapped his hand around the boy’s eyes and mouth, the other arm coming up to block the elbow James shot back at the young prince.

The difference in height worked against Griffin, Lance’s long legs giving him the added advantage of a few inches, and he brought the guard toppling down. Rolling over, Lance laughed as the soldier somersaulted and came up in a fighting stance, fists at the ready.

“You…” He panted, eyes burning with embarrassment. “Your Highness!”

“I’m sorry,” Lance wheezed out between gales of laughter. “I’m sorry, I had to, I know it was mean.”

James stood, stance awkward and defense dropped, as his prince stood weakly, still laughing. 

    “I know you were expecting an attack.” Lance grinned at him. “But I couldn’t help but do it. Your back was wide open.”

    “I wasn’t expecting an attack from behind, there isn’t any —” He caught sight of the exit in the other side of the gazebo, just barely hidden from the entrance. “You lied!”

“I did,” Lance agreed, turning to exit the small clearing. “It was necessary. To be fair, you would’ve gotten in a very good hit, were I less trained.”

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the other boy’s eyes widen in horror. “I’m- I deeply apolo —”

“James.” Lance turned away. “Think nothing of it. Had I truly been an intruder attacking you, it was an excellent reaction.”

He kept walking, his bodyguard quickly catching up to him as he strode through the maze, only half paying attention to the twists and turns as he thought about what had happened in the glass dome, the snapping of the branch and the rustle of the bushes.

He narrowed his eyes, mouth dipping in a frown as his brow furrowed. It wasn’t impossible that it was an animal that had gotten into the garden, Lance hadn’t explored much beyond the paths and bridges. He’d yet to see any living creature besides fish in the times he’d visited, but he also hadn’t visited very often. Today included, there might’ve been ten total times he’d been to the beautiful gardens.

He shook his head as he climbed the stairs onto a picturesque veranda, pushing past the gossamer curtains and turning down the hall. Lance’s feet fell sure and steady, treading a well-known path through the palace, past looming windows and up twisting stairs until he reached Pidge’s tower. Grinning, he knocked as he pushed it open.

“Pidge?”

“Busy, can’t talk.” The girl in question leaned over a book, herbs strewn seemingly randomly across her desk, short hair tied back with a bright scarf.

“But—” Lance protests, but she cuts him off.

_ “Busy.”  _ She doesn’t look up from the book, reaching for a lurid red liquid in a glass vial. 

“Pidge, I need you to cause an explosion.”

The girl’s hand freezes, her small frame completely still. Then she turns her head, just barely, and Lance grins at her back. “Oh?”

“A decent size one, just enough to get me out of dinner.”

Pidge finally turns around to face him, devious, almost sinister grin spread across her face. “Specific time, or…?”

“Probably around…” Lance trails off, counting courses and estimating the time it would take to get through them. “Say, eleven thirty tonight?”

    “Escaping the formal dinner?”

    “With Shiro’s blessing.” Lance shrugs, knowing full well that the older man would likely kill him for orchestrating such an event, rather than simply requesting a servant pull hum away for vague but urgent matters. “Make it safe enough so that it wouldn’t require any guards, please? Don’t need the whole palace in here.”

    Pidge visibly cringed at the thought of all the people in her ordered laboratory. Not that it seemed ordered, with its slumping piles of books and messy handwriting scrawled across various bottles and vials and parchment, scrolls falling off shelves and benches and candles burnt to stubs by the small cot she kept by the bed. But to Pidge, it was perfectly ordered. She was capable of finding anything ins mere seconds, and had long ago banned any servant from so much as dusting.

    “Eleven thirty?” Pidge nodded. “Doable.”

    “Perfect,” Lance said as the door opened, James insisting that they go to the dinner immediately. “You’d better not forget!”

    But Pidge was already turning back to the herbs and books, waving him off as Lance was dragged to his doom.

    “What is she not to forget?” James looked at him curiously as they proceeded down the hallway towards the dining hall.

    “Nothing important, just a meeting.” If his bodyguard sensed something suspicious, he didn’t let on about it. On the contrary, Griffin grinned.

    “Caught your eye, has she?” Before Lance could correct him, the young guard ploughed on. “I think I’d’ve enjoyed her... company, if it weren’t for the, y’know…”

    Lance quirked an eyebrow at him, blood simmering in his veins as the idiot continued.

    “She’s just… weird. Attractive, I suppose, but I’m not sure what possessed her to become an alchemist. She’s talented, so she’s got that, I guess, and the potential to be—”

    Lance turned his head very slightly to the guard. “Griffin.”

    Unaware of the venom laced, in Lance’s tone, Griffin continued. “—attractive, too. But there’s the weird stuff. She spends days in there, she doesn’t talk to other people, aside from you and that cook. I’d say she’s barely female, though I could check for you if—”

    Over the past day or so, the two had gotten to know each other fairly well. James Griffin could tell anyone any number of things about the prince’s habits, his mischievousness, his humor and his kindness. The lack of formality between him and whomever he interacted with, the dismissal of basic protocols. and i It was no secret that Shiro had been elected to personally train both Lance and Allura in combat from a young age, and that Lance had kept the weekly lessons, even now. He was rumored to be an excellent fighter, and an even better marksman.

    James had doubted the rumors after the first five hours with Lance, and stopped believing them altogether the next morning. There was no way the laid-back, fun loving prince could be so deadly in battle.

    But he had gravely underestimated the crown prince.

    Lance’s body moved faster than the young guard could process, elbow crashing into his sternum as the prince whirled, long leg coming up to catch him across the chest. James stumbled, and then Lance moved again, this time sweeping the bodyguard’s leg from beneath him while pushing into his chest, sending him flying downward.

    Utterly bewildered, James rolled to get up, but he was slow. Lance was already grabbing his arm, twisting it up and back as he planted a knee in the center of the soldier’s back.

    “You will never speak so savagely of my dearest friends” Lance’s eyes glittered, the blue going ice cold for the first time since James had been assigned to guard him. His voice was quiet, authoritative, commanding. The voice of an angered king. “And do not assume you may speak so familiarly with me.”

    Lance was away from him in seconds, already striding regally down the hallway again, deep blue robes swirling around him. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

    Lance swirled the dark liquid around his cup, only half paying attention to the performers before him. His eyes drifted down the table a few seats, to where Lotor was seated among the other Galra. He frowned into the glass, eyes turning away from the diplomat.   
    The group had been acting curiously for most of the night, making Lance wonder if perhaps there was more to this visit than it appeared. Initially, each visitor had seemed equally ranked, perhaps leaders or second-in-command to their clans. But as he’d watched, each had treated Lotor with more respect than the others, had listened more closely to him, had let him speak more.  
    Lance began to wonder if, perhaps, there was truth to the rumors of Zarkon’s son, or perhaps a twisted truth. If someone claimed to be descended from a beloved leader and feared warrior, what might they be able to accomplish within the scattered clans? He wanted to dismiss the idea that Lotor might have seized control of the Galra, but now that the idea had taken root, it was getting harder to dismiss. There was precious little evidence to go on, though, and Lance glared into his wine as the music picked up pace, dancers whirling in colorful cloth, all rushing towards an explosive end.  
    He forced himself to relax, to take a sip of wine. When he looked up again, Lotor’s gaze caught in his own. The man smiled, and Lance returned it, briefly. Then Allura was up and clapping, congratulating the performers. Lance rose, following her lead, glancing toward the door as the appetizers were brought in by colorfully robed servants. The goat cheese wraps and cold meats were lined down the center of the table, abundantly stacked for each of the diplomats and courtiers and advisors and the royal siblings.   
    He picked up a delicate wrap, biting in and wondering how long it would take for the chatter to fade and the next course to be brought in. He counted back in his head, chewing thoughtfully as he estimated the length of each of the performances. They’d already been sitting for about thee hours, and there were still two more courses to wade through.   
    “...Your Highness?” Lotor’s brow furrowed, the man leaning forward in his seat. “Is there something weighing on you?”  
    “Nothing of great importance.” Lance smiled brilliantly. “How rude of me, to be so lost in thought while our guests are here. I apologize.”  
    “Don’t worry,” Lotor replied. “Might I ask, however, who made this delicious food? I’d very dearly love to take them back to Daibazaal with me, if I may.”  
    Allura, sitting next to Lance, laughed. “Unfortunately, my brother would be loathe to part with our young Mr. Garrett. As both Lance’s personal chef and friend, Hunk is very dear to us.”  
    “Garrett?” Lotor’s eyebrows crept toward his hairline. “Your chef is Terran?”  
    “Yes.” Lance wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Our father thought it was important to hire diversely, and so our staff is made up of people from many lands. We try to keep the same policy.”  
    Lotor nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a thin slice of meat. “It was my own father’s belief that the Galra didn’t need outsiders. I’m not so sure, and seeing how well your palace operates and how loyal your staff are, I am much more convinced that we should not isolate ourselves from the other nations.”  
    “Is that why you came?” Lance leaned backward as a plate of spiced swordfish was placed before him, nodding to the server in thanks. “To establish a relationship with Altea?”  
    “Unfortunately,” an older Galran representative leaned over from their spot, narrowing her eyes at Lance. “Lotor is not at liberty to discuss such matters until the meeting tomorrow.”  
    “Daiak.” Lotor frowned at her, and Lance watched as she sniffed disdainfully before turning to the steaming steak of swordfish before her. Lotor faced the two siblings again.       “It is my turn to apologize, I’m afraid. My colleague behaved inappropriately, but she is correct— I am unable to discuss the reason behind our visit until the hearing tomorrow.”  
    “We understand,” Allura replied coolly. “Though I must admit, we're all curious as to why the clans of Daibazaal have visited, but I suppose waiting one more day couldn’t hurt.”  
    Lance could see the tension in her hands, the tightness of her smile. His elder sister was more than curious—she was frustrated. It was likely the first time any diplomats had been so tight lipped with the Altean court; the group was largely shrouded in mystery, the only facts any of the Alteans knew were that the group was Galrans from Daibazaal, and they were all important members of the known Galran clans.  
But to the rest of the diners, the queen looked every bit the gracious and kind hostess. Lance cut into his own fish, marveling at the delicacy and complex flavors as he watched his sister smile and laugh almost effortlessly, keeping up with both Altean courtiers and the Daibazaal envoy. It was something Lance was only so good at, had only so much patience for. He could keep the attention of two or three, he could chatter away in small groups, but to hold the attention of the twenty-something diplomats and courtiers and advisors as Allura did was something Lance couldn’t quite grasp.  
    He placed another mouthful of the spicy fish between his lips, nodding and smiling as it was required. He glanced out the window, gazing at the moon as it slowly rose into the deep, velvet indigo sky. It seemed far too long to be sitting, to smile and laugh through conversations and try and navigate the waters of diplomacy while unsure of where he was headed.  
    When the moon had reached its apex, hovering at the top of the tallest window, the servants began taking the empty plates, refilling glasses of wine and water and bowing out. The doors had barely reopened, the servants bearing covered platters barely begun walking in, when there was a muffled explosion. The entire gathered party froze, servants footsteps stuttering to a halt as they looked around, uneasy.   
Shiro’s gaze locked almost menacingly with Lance’s, and the prince tried hard not to smile. As Allura opened her mouth to ask, or perhaps apologize, or say something to set the diners at ease, a servant rushed in, making a beeline for Lance. After hushed whispering, Lance nodded and rose.   
    “I must excuse myself.” He bowed to the table as the tension ebbed. “But my presence is required by our head alchemist. I apologize for the interruption, please—enjoy the rest of the meal.”  
    He strode out of the room, ignoring the following footsteps of his guard, as he made his way to the tower room Pidge had just blown up.


	11. Chapter 11

    Keith watched the prince rise from the table and bow, excusing himself early to go investigate whatever had blown up in another area of the castle. The dining party hadn’t been high on Keith's list of places to go, but it was where he’d wound up. As he watched the diners pick over food and luxurious dishes, his blood boiled. There were people in Daibazaal starving because they would not or were not affiliated with the clans, people who had been cast out and had to make do with what they could.

    Keith had been fortunate enough to have a house, a garden, his father teaching him how to survive in the harsh mountains range slicing across Daibazaal. Others were not so lucky. He bitterly hated Lotor as he sat amongst the Altean royalty, laughing and talking, playing at being king while the people of his homeland starved.

    He turned away from the dinner, fading away from the shadows of the balcony and silently slipping back into the secret passages. His feet led him though the twists and turns, following the call from streaks and traces of his own magic, left as markers to remind him of the turns, an invisible thread reeling him back in. The dinner wouldn’t end until the early hours, and Keith still had much to explore.

    His path led to another doorway, this one warmly glowing. Keith hesitated, knowing that any door he opened could lead him directly into someone who would alert the Daibazaal diplomats of his escape. He pushed his magic out, feeling for a presence, for a person, but there was none. He pushed the door open to reveal a room lit up with low-burning torches, the light flickering off of frescoes and mosaics, scenes of Altea’s history. Stairs spiraled upward from the center, wild patterns decorating the bottom. Keith looked up, taking a step towards them, before he felt a cool night breeze float across his face. He looked over into an open archway, the white stone framing the dark night invitingly. It was outside he needed, not further into the palace.

    He stepped into the archway, looking out across the lawn towards the hedge maze and beyond it, the wall. There had to be a servant’s entrance somewhere, a place for people to get in and out without crossing the huge bridge and bringing too much attention to themselves.

    As soon as he placed a foot on the gravel path through the garden, there was a flash, and before him stood the ghostly white fox, lips pulled back in a furious snarl. Quickly, he stumbled back into the room as a figure stole quickly across the lawn, headed for the maze. They made no notice of the glowing vixen, even as she turned to follow the dark figure. She looked once over her shoulder at Keith, then bounded after them.

    “Guess I’ll follow you, then,” Keith sighed.

    He hesitated at the entrance to the maze, recalling the hazy image of a dream. Stepping into the maze, waking up with a jolt. It was how the night had started, hadn’t it? Keith huffed a surprised laugh, realising that he’d escaped shackles only a few hours ago. He looked to his wrists, the edges of burns remaining on the skin. Balling his fists and squaring his shoulders, he stepped towards the heavily flowered bushes. At the very least, he would know _why._ Why the vixen had freed him, why she seemed so intent on him staying.

    He plunged into the maze, sprinting to keep up with the frustratingly mysterious ghost. Her tail vanished around corners, paws skimming the ground and barely disturbing the flowers twisting from the green leaves, their petals heavy with dewdrops.

    He skid to a halt, nearly slamming through the apparition. Rather than having been led back to the water garden as he’d expected, Keith stood before an archway covered in twisting flowers, the stone surprisingly uncleaned.  He took another cautious step, and the fox vanished. Looking beyond the arch, Keith saw a statue shrouded in shadow. Squinting, he approached, magic pooling in his palm to create a dancing flame. Lifting it, he studied the statue’s unmistakable features.

    “Melenor Di Leonis,” he breathed. “Queen of Altea.”

    The gears of his brain clicked, whirred, settled the pieces into place.

    Before she had married into the Di Leonis family, the late queen had been Melenor Renard, a noble family of Altea famed for excelling in Altean alchemy, and had birthed more than a couple witches.

    They were known for their magical and alchemical prowess, their cleverness, cunning, and kindness. Unsurprisingly, the family crest was a pure white vixen, representing the culmination of all these traits.

    Keith stared at the statue, at Melenor’s graceful and regal pose.

    _What could she possibly want from me?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long it's taken to get this update out!! It's been a crazy hectic week, and then a wild ride of writing chapters that just didn't fit in the long run... But here we are! I hope you're all enjoying this fic as much as I am, let me know if there's anything you'd like to see more of!


	12. Chapter 12

    Lance disappeared into the dark, marching—practically running— towards one of several quiet places of refuge on the palace grounds. He skipped past the entrances to the flowering maze, skirted around the walls, hopped a fence and ducked into the small grove of trees, winding his way through them towards an open glade, lit with faintly flickering blue light emanating from the flowers of the tree in the center. Flecks of crystal blue light drifted down gently to rest and dim among the wildly blooming juniberries. There were easier ways to get here, wide gravel paths with beautiful fountains and landscaping, but his way was the quickest, the quietest.

    He smiled as he approached the tree, feeling the tension in his shoulders relax and the anxiety of the dinner slowly fade. Lance wasn’t one for the formalities, the parading and the slow march of politics. He much preferred being amongst his people, talking and learning and hearing from them what they needed, in their words, not in the formal deliveries given to the court.

    Lance sat on the ground amongst the flowers, breathing the lush scent of rich earth and sweet juniberry in, pulling the guitar strapped to his back around to his front and strumming it mindlessly. He hummed a bit, closing his eyes and letting the quiet pleasure of the moment wind its way into his music.

    He had no idea how long he stayed like that, strumming the strings idly while his back pressed to the bark of the tree. The edges of the sky were stained light when the strumming halted abruptly, the last note fading quickly away as Lance listened carefully to the trees around him. The rustle came again, as if whoever was approaching didn’t want to bother hiding their steps.

    As he opened his mouth to speak, a smooth, lilting voice beat him to it.

    “I thought I’d find you here.” Allura stepped out from the cover of the trees, smiling at her younger brother. “Shiro won’t be happy that you’ve left your guard.”

    “He should have picked someone better.” Lance shrugged, setting the guitar aside. “And what about you? Where does he think you’re off to, this fine morning?”

    Allura’s skirts splayed around her as she sat, careful not to disturb the juniberries. “Bed, of course. I probably should be, but there’s just… so much. I can’t stop wondering at this group of diplomats. Why are they here? Why now, after all this time, have the clans of Daibazaal come together, and… and who is Lotor?”

    Her brows drew together more and more as she spoke, voicing her concerns and frustrations. Lance reached out, halting the tide briefly with a hand on her shoulder. The siblings shared a moment of silence before he spoke, words slow and quiet.

    “We find out why today, ‘Lura. We’ve found out all we could prior to the meeting, and now it’s up to them to phrase it and show us why.” He folded his arms, watching his sister. “I know it’s hard on you, and you feel like it’s all up to you, but you’re not alone in this. You’ve done amazing on your own, and I’m so, so proud of you. But it’s okay to share that burden, y’know? Let us help, Allura. Shiro, Coran, and I? Hunk and Pidge, too. That’s what we’re here for.”

    “Lance,” Allura smiled at her younger brother. “Thank you.”

    He smiled in return, and the conversation drifted into pleasant silence as Allura watched the stars wink out, one by one, and Lance picked the guitar back up. He strummed until his fingers became clumsy, until he fought to keep his eyes open, until Shiro walked through the woods, a frown on his face until he saw the siblings both slumped, half-asleep, against the tree their parents planted together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After waiting to watch it with my best friend, I've finally finished Voltron and it destroyed me :) Life finally slowed down long enough for me to post, though, so there's a bonus! Enjoy, y'all!


	13. Chapter 13

    Keith was already in the room, already in the useless shackles and leaning far, far away from that ironwork decoration.

_ Why am I here? Why am I here, why am I  _ here _? _

__ The question flew around his head, circling endlessly as he closed his eyes. He knew, though —Melenor. The more he’d followed the fox last night, the more he knew for certain. Melenor needed him to stay.

   Still, he wasn’t thrilled with it. Less so as Lotor and a handful of servants entered. As always, Lotor was cold as stone, eyes roving over Keith without really seeing him— he was, after all, a pawn to be played, not a boy who’d been kidnapped. Keith raised his own eyes to his captor’s, meeting the indifferent gaze with a burning glare.

   “Clean him.” Lotor walked around the bed, examining Keith as one might examine a horse they were purchasing. “He must be presentable for the Altean court. Do what you must.”

   With that, he strode from the room, Keith grit his teeth and glared at the servants he’d left behind, but none of them seemed to pay him any mind. They went to their jobs, two breaking off to the bathroom, and the sound of water running came out soon after. Another unlocked the shackles, giving him only a warning look before removing them from his wrists.

  But there was no running. Keith examined the slight burns around his wrists for the first time, frowning at the thin lines his previous shackles had left. A hand wrapped around his arm, and he was taken to the bath, a tub sunken into the stone floor of the large bathroom. Even in servant's quarters, Altea's priority was guest's comfort.

   Soap was scrubbed roughly into his filthy skin, and he hissed as the sponge rubbed painfully over scrapes and burns. Doused in water unexpectedly, he hacked and coughed, barely seeing the flash of a blade as he pushed his wet mop of hair back.

   On instinct, the his magic flared. A servant gasped as the scissors were wrenched from their hands, the rest stumbled back a step before their bodies no longer obeyed them. Keith stood in the sunken tub, eyes wide and feet set, staring at the slowly turning scissors and floating drops of water, everything in the room frozen where it was. Slowly, everything drifted down, the servants stumbled as they regained control over their limbs, Keith’s heartbeat slowing as the wave of magic receded, pulling back into him.

  The scissors dropped to the ground, and Keith’s fighting stance loosened. “Sorry.”

  They approached with more caution now, moved slower and worked gently. Keith closed his eyes and locks of hair fell, the scissors snipping rhythmically through his overlong hair.

   Soft hands grabbed his own, and he opened his eyes to watch silently as a Galran druid healed his burns, angry red skin fading into a soft pink before disappearing into a barely-there white scar.

   “I’m sorry I can’t take them away completely,” her voice was soft, the only words spoken directly to him since being captured. He nodded in thanks, allowing himself to be led from the bathroom to the bedroom, where they dressed him in an uncomfortably complicated outfit, layered and flowing— probably a traditional Altean design, something to make him attractive to the prince and queen. He shifted insecurely in it, uncomfortable with the way the fabric clung and draped over his body. Keith’s eyes fell on his clothes, abandoned on the ground. A simple tunic and simpler leggings, made for work in the garden, work around his small cabin, work with his father. He turned from the memory of his father, pushing away the images of what had happened. He couldn’t change it, couldn’t fix it, no matter how much he wanted.

Hands tugged him forward, through the plainer servant’s room he’d been given into the more luxurious guest room where Lotor reclined with a book. He barely glanced up as his prisoner entered, slowly finishing his chapter before placing the book on an end table. He knit his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, and leaned forward to survey Keith.

“Turn.” His voice didn’t hold any contempt, nor any cruelty. It was simply an order, detached, with the expectation of obedience.

Keith was not an obedient person. He stared at a spot to the left of the man in the chair, unmoving, until the servants pushed and pulled and forced him to turn slowly. The quiet eyes that met his as he turned held warnings, their lips pressed together as they tried to obey their king. The last Galran ruler had not been known for kindness.  This one was not known at all.

Lotor nodded, seemingly pleased with the inspection. 

    “Guards.” The two in the room, Lotor’s personal guards, straightened in response to his call. “Call the other two to escort the witch. We are to meet the prince and queen after their private breakfast, which will end in an hour. When they enter the reception hall, I want to be waiting.”

    They nodded, fists thumping chests as they bowed slightly. Lotor ignored them as they strode from the room to fetch the other two guards.

    Lotor stood slowly and gracefully—a snake, ready to strike. He didn’t once look Keith in the eye as he approached, circling the boy; he hardly looked at him at all. But his words were for Keith, and Keith alone. The servants scattered back as Lotor neared.

    “You seem smart enough, witch. You did not attempt a foolish escape, and you didn’t put up a fight. I expect equal behavior as we speak to the Altean court today. Should you bring shame to this diplomatic mission, you will suffer a similar fate to your father. Let him set one last example for you.” As he spoke the last words, Lotor met Keith’s gaze, the uncaring, glacial stare meeting Keith’s snarling mouth and angry eyes.

    The guards bustled back in, awaiting Lotor, and he strode between them. As Keith was escorted behind him, he found himself flanked with diplomats, all walking in formation, all dressed simply but expensively. Lotor expected perfection, and everything was coded to achieve his end goal:

    The rebirth of the Galra Empire, legitimized by an alliance with one of the most powerful kingdoms—not just forged in signatures on paper, but in marriage vows.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I know it's been a decade and a half since I've updated, and I'm sorry! Life's been a little rough recently, so I took a long break from all my projects. I promise, I'm still writing though, and I haven't given up on this fic!! I'll try to update more often, especially since I have a touch more time now. Thank you all for reading and being patient, and enjoy the new chapter!

    Keith walked quietly with the troupe of Galran diplomats, the light cuffs he wore jingling quietly, hidden amongst the crisp steps of the rest of the group. He glanced briefly at Altean servants, several whose eyes lingered on the group before running off, no doubt to inform the prince and his sister of the rather large group moving through the castle.

    He prayed he was making the right choice.

    They walked slowly, taking their time, allowing the whispers to follow them like a mounting wave. Lotor walked with all the quiet power of a king at their lead, dressed finely in light armor, his white hair flowing behind him. Flanking him were two of his four generals—each quiet women, more than capable of handling their own in battle. Following that were the former leaders of the twelve Galra clans, now advisors to the newly-minted king.

    “It is vital that they invite us to sit.” Lotor reminded the crowd behind him, pausing at the doors to the hall. “Not a one of us sits until invited, understood?”

    Keith stood in the middle, eyes down and fingers twisting in the loose fabric of the pants he wore as silent nods were made. The procession walked on, entering the double doors of the reception hall grandly, Lotor and his generals and advisors and guards all striding towards the circular table at the center of the room.

    Keith looked across the table, and was surprised to find the prince and queen already seated there, waiting. On either side of the two seats sat the Royal Advisor, Coran, and the Captain of the Guard, Shiro.

    Keith and the guard locked eyes, and a jolt ran through Keith. _Shiro._

    Lotor moved gracefully into a bow, the procession following his lead. A hand pulled Keith into the bow roughly, and he broke his stare at the guard. Lotor rose from his bow, smiling happily at the siblings. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

    “Your Majesty,” Lotor greeted Allura, receiving a nod and a small smile in return. “A beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

    “Indeed, it is. I hope you all slept favorably, last night?” Keith didn’t miss the way Allura shifted, or the way her younger brother’s lips pressed together the slightest bit—these were pleasantries they’d rather skip.

    “It was an excellent slumber, Your Majesty.” Lotor’s beaming smile faded a bit. “If I may skip the pleasantries, I must discuss the question your brother posed to me the night before: Why my party and I are here. In part, you were correct, Your Highness. We are here to form closer ties to our Altean neighbors. Years of war with you and other countries has led to a terrible lack of unity, a deep distrust forged by Lord Zarkon, a once trusted ally of the Altean court.

    “I must admit, what Zarkon did was unthinkable—to tear friends and allies apart, to have ravaged nations with war, and for what? Nothing was accomplished, his dream of uniting the Galra and empowering my people died with him. Through war, nothing is accomplished. This is not the legacy I want my people to have. I wish to reestablish our bonds with Altea, to rebuild our relations with the other nations.”

    Keith watched the royal siblings react; Allura, narrowing her eyes and watching Lotor as he spoke, analyzing him and his motivations. Lance, reclined almost lazily in his seat, eyes roving over the group. Irritation sparked in Keith’s chest. _Why should he be here if he doesn’t care?_

    “I understand your point, sir.” Coran leaned forward from between the thrones. “And I apologize for the interruption, but I must ask: Why are you the one to lead the Galran clans? Daibazaal has many different Galra leading many different peoples, all competent enough to carry on a more peaceful version of Zarkon’s vision. How did you come to be their leader?”

    Lotor smiled ruefully. “Zarkon’s war left a dark history that all Galra must claim, no matter how old or how involved they were in the war. Unfortunately, it is a legacy I am heir to, more so than the rest of my kin. As the son of Zarkon, many regarded me as the next in line to continue the vision. Now that I am of age, I claim the right to rule my people, and I refuse to succumb to the barbaric instincts of my father.”

    The declaration left silence in the room. The siblings regarded Lotor with sharp eyes, tension building as the silence stretched on. The group around Keith shifted restlessly, waiting to be asked to the table. It was an old Altean custom, that much Keith knew. To be asked to the table was to have your group and your motives recognized, to be given a chance. It was paramount to the diplomat's mission that they be asked to sit at the great circular table.

    “You claim to be Zarkon’s son,” Lance’s smooth voice broke the silence, the eyes of the Galran group snapping to him, while his sister remained silent, allowing her brother to speak. “And you claim to be the new ruler of Daibazaal. What reason do we have to trust you?”

    “Your Highness?” Lotor’s brows drew together, thrown off by the prince’s question. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

    Lance leaned forward, elbows planted firmly on the table. “You must understand that our history with both Zarkon and the Galra is quite complicated. You say that you are here to peacefully ally with Altea, you say that you are Zarkon’s son, and you say that you’ve claimed your right to rule Daibazaal. This is all well and good, to speak of uniting the Galra through peace, but what reason do we have to trust your word?”

    Lotor nodded, thinking in silence. “I’m afraid you have no reason. I’ve no one to vouch for my character, no heroic acts nor admirable lineage. I understand your hesitancy, and I wouldn’t trust a proposal such as mine either. But I beg you to give me a chance, to see what could happen. I would reside here, in your court, submit to any tests of truth or character, anything to see our countries united. We are strong nations separately, how much stronger would we be together? As a peacefully allied force, we could face any threat, protect our people and prosper from our connection.”

    Once again, silence fell across the hall. The diplomats held their breath, knowing the decision the siblings made now would be final.

    Allura glanced at her brother, to her advisor and guard. Each seemed to affirm something for her, something the Daibazaal party couldn’t hope to divine. Finally, her eyes settled on Lotor. Keith stared silently at the two, wondering where the meeting would turn.

    “Lotor,” Allura’s melodic voice was quiet yet authoritative. “My Lord, please. Have a seat.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

    Lance felt uneasy. Lotor had declared his purpose, the party had been invited to sit, but there was still more. He could feel it in the way Lotor assessed the siblings, in the way the diplomats sat stiffly, unsure of themselves. His eyes fell on a boy standing between two guards behind Lotor’s seat, shackled lightly. 

   Lance frowned and glanced at Allura, who nodded lightly. Neither had missed the detail. He felt the tension radiating from Shiro, and turned his eyes back to Lotor.

   “My lord,” Lance’s voice drifted through the warm hall quietly. “Might I ask who you’ve brought with you to our meeting?”

   “A subject to be broached much later, Your Highness.” Lotor smiled back, deflecting the question gently before turning back to the subject at hand. Allura’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and Lance pressed his lips together. The deflection was somewhat expected, but an irritation to them both. “As you both know well, Daibazaal has many resources that would benefit Altea. With an alliance, I’d also like to establish trade and —”

   “Lotor,” Allura interrupted. Despite the rudeness of the interruption, no one reprimanded her.  “I am sure the trade routes and many other minutiae can be discussed at length at a later time. There is clearly something more that you would like to discuss, and while you are here before us I would like to discuss it. We may speak about any day-to-day interactions between our kingdoms towards the end of your stay, if you have proved yourself trustworthy.”

  “Your Majesty?” Lotor’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

   “You agreed to reside in our court, submit to any test of character, and prove yourself trustworthy, did you not? I fully intend to take you up on this proclamation, and therefore cannot agree to trade routes and treaties just yet. Simply because you come humbly into our court does not mean we will accept you with open arms. Altea’s history with Daibazaal is a dark one, and I must make informed decisions for my court and my people. Surely you understand, my lord?”

   “Indeed, Your Majesty.” Lotor smiled, but Lance could see something in his eyes harden, just briefly, before the conversation moved on. “Then onto the next subject.”

   Lotor took a moment, as if in reflection, and silence spread. Lance grew more uneasy— whatever Lotor had in mind, Lance felt that it wouldn’t be as simple as an alliance. His eyes drifted to the dark-haired boy behind Lotor’s seat once more, before snapping back to the man at the table as he spoke.

   “I must admit, this further pertains to the idea of allying our two nations. I humbly request that you hear this now, before the end of my stay, so that you might have time to reflect upon it.”

   “Go on,” Allura leaned back in her seat, sharp eyes never leaving Lotor.

   “In the past, our fathers were dear friends. Indeed, my mother was an Altean, and the wedding was officiated by your own father.” Lotor gestured to the siblings. “In times of crisis, they relied upon each other, trusted each other. When my own father’s greed outweighed his friendship, he shattered any trust between them.”

   “I fail to see how this is relevant.” Lance regarded Lotor, searching for any clue of what he was leading up to.

   “It is relevant because the initial alliance of Altea and Daibazaal was built on friendship and trust, bonds that are not easily overlooked. I would have our alliance begin similarly, and with this stay in your court, I hope to build a relationship between our nations that would last generations. 

   “It is no secret that despite their friendship, my father betrayed yours. As his heir, I must bear this burden and distrust. I understand the wound Daibazaal has inflicted upon Altea, and apologize on behalf of my people for the atrocities committed during our war.”

   Silence snapped through the room as Lotor and his party stood and bowed before the siblings. Lance and Allura looked at each other in shock. Although Altea had won the war, the injuries left by the former Galra empire were extensive— they had been ruthless. For Daibazaal to apologize for the shattering of an alliance and the treatment of the many people captured during its war was unprecedented.

   “Thank you, Lotor. Your apology is quite appreciated.” Allura turned back to the man. “I never thought we’d see the day that Daibazaal would come to our court to apologize.”

   “Times are changing, Your Majesty, and we must do all we can to keep up. The Galra must unite again, not to wage war but to help improve our world. In the wake of our apology, I have but one last statement to make.

   “Earlier, you asked me who I had brought with me. I now will shine light upon who this is, and why he is here.” Lotor gestured for the boy to be brought forward. “It is customary amongst the Galra to bring gifts when visiting. Amongst the clans, gifts are vital to negotiations for land, alliances, and more. I have brought this custom with me to your court in order to negotiate a more stable alliance than that of our fathers. As I have said, their alliance was built on bonds of friendship and trust, a knowledge of each other that began at childhood. 

   “We have not known each other so long, Your Majesty, but the basis of the alliance I bring to your table is the same: A foundation of trust and friendship.” Lotor faced Allura only now, leaning forward on the table as he spoke. “More than that, we must ensure that our bonds can never be broken by deceit or greed. I propose we unite our two great nations, Your Majesty, unite our courts in unshakeable foundations. The gift I bring to you is more than a customary gift, it is a present that I hope would be the beginnings of a long connection of our lines. Your Majesty, Queen Allura. I would present my gift to you as a wedding present, a hope that we may bind ourselves to an alliance forged in friendship, in trust, and in matrimony.”

 


	16. Important Announcement

    Hey everyone! First, I'd like to thank you all so much for reading, it means a lot to me that you've commented and read and enjoyed this so much so far. 

    Second, I have to apologize for not updating in so long. Things have been wild in my life lately, a long list of fun twists in life that just happens in your early twenties....

   Unfortunately, it looks like things are only going to get more crazy, and so I have to give my biggest apology... As of today, I'm not writing this anymore. I may try and come back to finish it, because it kills me to stop writing this right as we're getting to the good part... Hopefully, I'll sneak in some one-shots of this AU and maybe some Hunk stuff when I can! But right now, there's a lot of stuff in my life that I've been neglecting and I really have to take care of...

    Again, I'm so sorry to leave you all hanging, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and kind comments! 

    I don't know if this is really done, but if you're all looking for more magic Keith or just something really incredible, check out aknighly's fics! Calling Me to Come Back is a fantastic work, as is the rest of their writing. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a huge fan....

    Thank you all again for your support. I'll try to come back with this one, I promise!


End file.
